


Ash and Bones

by Izzyfandoms



Series: Clouds and Moss AU [2]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Angst, Character Death, Death God Deceit, Fire God Roman, Fluff, M/M, Roceit - Freeform, Sympathetic Deceit Sanders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-28
Updated: 2020-02-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:40:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22942684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Izzyfandoms/pseuds/Izzyfandoms
Summary: Janus had met the god of fire before.Of course, he had, they had existed for millennia, how could their paths not have crossed? And humans died by fire all the time, so he felt Roman’s heat like warm breath on his skin almost constantly.Humans were endlessly dying of many different things, though, so it wasn’t like Roman was special.But, in all his many years of knowing – though never really knowing – Roman, he hadn’t expected the other god to seem so... human.
Relationships: Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders/Deceit Sanders
Series: Clouds and Moss AU [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1584703
Comments: 16
Kudos: 168





	Ash and Bones

Janus had met the god of fire before. 

Of course, he had, they had existed for millennia, how could their paths not have crossed? And humans died by fire all the time, so he felt Roman’s heat like warm breath on his skin almost constantly. 

Humans were endlessly dying of many different things, though, so it wasn’t like Roman was special. 

But, in all his many years of knowing – though never really _knowing –_ Roman, he hadn’t expected the other god to seem so... human. 

Janus swept through the bustling town, his cloak fluttering in the wind behind him. He had a job to do, and he would get it done as swiftly and efficiently as possible, but that didn’t mean he had to enjoy it. This town was much too alive for his tastes: full of music and dancing and laughter. It was just his luck that his visit coincided with the festival celebrating the fire god, Roman. 

The humans that moved through the shadows couldn’t see Janus – he stuck to the shadows and blended in like that was where he belonged – but they all instinctively dodged him nonetheless. His boots made no noise as they thumped against the ground. It was like he wasn’t even there, more a ghost than a god. 

Janus didn’t really mind that, honestly. 

He soon reached his destination, the town square. There were men with instruments at one end, and at least half of the people present were dancing, but none drew nearly as much attention as one man who danced in the centre. 

His eyes were closed, and he was smiling, serene, but he never once tripped as he expertly weaved through the crowd. He moved like a flame that danced in the wind: gorgeous, mesmerising, hypnotic. If it hadn’t been for the fact that Janus could see right through his glamour – revealing too-perfect skin that glowed in the moonlight, and bright eyes identical to burning coals – he would have mistaken him for just another particularly talented human. 

Janus watched Roman dance for an unknown period of time, his eyes following as Roman’s feet left glowing imprints on the ground behind him, that only they could see. Many tried to reach out and touch the god, to pluck him from the square and pull him right into their arms, but his skin burned their hands: the extent depending on their intentions. 

The music sped up, and Roman twirled and twirled around and around across the square, so light on his feet that he almost looked to be floating, until he suddenly stopped, right in front of Janus, opening his eyes and looking up in surprise at the taller god. 

“Oh, Janus, I didn’t see you there,” Roman said, bowing his head for a moment, respectful. “What are you doing here?” 

“I have a soul to collect,” Janus responded simply. 

Most human souls made their way to the underworld almost immediately after death, as if yanked from their bodies by an invisible string, but a rare few were a lot more... difficult, whether intentionally or not, and Janus had to come collect those by hand. 

Roman’s face fell for a moment, as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. The longer he stood with the death god, the more the surrounding humans’ eyes seemed to slide over him, like he wasn’t even there. Something appeared to be bothering him, which Janus thought to be a little peculiar – most gods felt only joy on their festival days – though he didn’t comment on it. Then, after a second or two, Roman’s expression smoothed over, and he straightened up. 

“A young woman named Elizabeth disappeared yesterday,” He said. “I’m- I’m assuming she’s the one you’re looking for.” 

Janus raised an eyebrow. “You must spend a lot of time here.” 

Roman gave an awkward laugh, running his fingers through his hair. “Yeah, well... I like this place.” 

The festivities continued around them: humans chattering and chuckling, ignorant to the solemn conversation happening right in front of their noses. Janus's eyes scanned the crowd; nothing stood out to him. 

“They worship you.” 

Humans worshipped all the gods – of course, they did, it was just common sense – but they worshipped Janus out of fear and obligation (and, at best, respect), not out of gratitude and love. 

Roman made a face. “That’s not why I like it here,” He said. “They think I’m human, just a wandering traveller. I’d like to keep it that way.” 

Janus nodded as if he understood. “Of course,” He answered, and that was that. 

The fire god gave Janus a small, grateful smile, before turning on his heel and melting back into the crowd. To the humans, he blended in, like a predator camouflaged in a forest – he wasn’t a threat to them, not really, but he could be, if he wanted to, and they’d never see him coming. To Janus, he couldn’t possibly stand out more; even when he retreated down the street, turning a corner and disappearing from sight, the death god could still feel his presence, like his skin was on fire, like there was magma in his veins. 

Janus hesitated for a moment, before pulling his hood back, running his ice-cold fingers through his dark hair. In the blink of an eye, he was suddenly visible, and the movement around him screeched to a halt. The surrounding humans spotted him instantly, inhaling sharply in fear – as loudly as they dared – and freezing in place. The life had drained out of them, and they stared at him like he’d come to reap _their_ souls, which was rather ridiculous. If he started killing the living, Patton would start complaining, and Janus just didn’t have the time for that. 

He took a step forward, and the crowd parted in front of him. There were some benefits to being feared, he supposed. 

The humans watched him fearfully. The longer their eyes remained on his face, the more his appearance shifted and changed, distorting under the weight of their stares. If they looked close enough, the skin on the left side of his face almost seemed to peel back, revealing a broken skull that wasn’t his. He was a god, he didn’t have bones, he was made up of something much older and scarier, something mortals couldn’t possibly comprehend. They saw only what they could understand, and, no matter how horrified they felt, they just couldn’t look away. 

Just before he reached the centre of the square, a figure appeared in front of him, flickering in and out of existence like a broken illusion. It was a young woman dressed in rags, her skin as white as bone and splattered with shiny red blood. She looked lost and in pain, and when she turned to stare at Janus with dead, frozen eyes, there was no fear in her gaze, only quiet relief. 

He held out his hand. “Come with me,” He spoke softly. 

Elizabeth paused, glancing around at the numerous people surrounding them, all fearfully holding their breath, people she’d likely known all her life: friends, maybe even family. Her killer may have even been there, too. Janus didn’t know the specifics. It wasn’t his job to know. 

She took his hand. 

He closed his eyes. There was a second of stillness and silence, and then the ghost disappeared from sight, oozing through his skin and settling in his chest. The tension in his shoulders melted away, and he straightened up, opening his eyes. 

Janus scanned the crowd; there was no trace of Roman remaining. It was cold. 

He waited from a moment, and then stomped his foot. The ground opened up and swallowed him whole, closing behind him, and dragging him back to where he belonged. He would have choked on the earth if he was human, it would have stuffed his lungs and stolen his life – humans died so easily, like the fallen twigs in a forest that snapped underfoot – but he was a god, so, instead, he felt only comfort. 

*** 

The next time he saw Roman was less than half a year later, in the exact same town, which he internally remarked as an odd coincidence, but nothing too unusual. 

“I didn’t expect to see you again so soon,” Roman spoke plainly, his hands in his pockets as he drew shapes in the mud with the tip of his boot. “I thought most souls travelled to the underworld on their own.” 

“They do,” Janus responded. 

Roman’s hair shone in the midday sun – red and orange, amber and gold – practically glowing, and Janus had a difficult time tearing his eyes away. Fortunately, though, he succeeded, and when the fire god looked up at him, he had already turned to stare down the winding dirt path that led into town. 

“Would you like to accompany me?” Janus asked eventually. 

“Sure.” 

Their walk through town was quiet. Roman’s glamour extended to Janus just enough that he appeared almost human, and Janus's glamour extended to Roman just enough that the townspeople paid little attention to them. It was relaxing, really – birds chirped joyously overhead, children ran and played around them – and if Janus hadn’t been so focused on watching every little movement Roman made, he might have felt at peace. 

“John Wicker died last night,” Roman finally spoke. “I doubt the townsfolk have even noticed yet.” 

Janus gave a quiet acknowledging hum. Humans were remarkably ignorant creatures; they tended to take a while to notice things. 

They stopped in front of a small, cosy-looking cottage. If Janus had had an appreciation for architecture or horticulture, he might have admired the pretty little house, and the various plants that sprawled across the garden surrounding it. But he didn’t, so, instead, he found himself observing one fiery-coloured flower in particular, internally remarking it as similar in hue to Roman’s hair. 

To his surprise, after a moment or two, Roman knelt down and plucked that very same flower from the ground, before standing up and twirling around to face the death god. He then reached out and tucked it behind Janus's ear. 

“There,” Roman smiled. “Your attire was looking rather drab. Why not add a splash of colour?” 

Janus blinked back at him, perplexed, reaching up to brush the petals with his gloved fingertips. His touch was light as a feather to avoid damaging it. 

“I’m already wearing colour,” He stated, gesturing vaguely at the yellow that outlined his shirt collar, barely visible under the hood of his cloak. 

Roman wrinkled his nose, tilting his head to one side as he looked over Janus. “That’s not quite enough,” He decided eventually, waving his hand. Janus's gloves turned from the dreary black to a much brighter yellow. “Much better,” Roman concluded. 

He looked back up at Janus, his eyes shining triumphantly. 

“Okay,” Janus responded, as he had no idea what else to say, looking over his new gloves in confusion. They matched his collar, and Roman seemed pleased, so he decided not to complain. 

There was a beat, and then Roman inclined his head towards the front door of the cottage, 

“Are we going inside?” 

“Oh, yes.” 

Janus turned and walked up the path, carefully avoiding stepping on any stray flowers, before pushing the door open as easily as if it was unlocked. He stopped before he stepped through the doorway, however, and when Roman peered around him to see what was going on, his face fell as his eyes landed on the body sprawled across the floor. 

The corpse was laying on his back, limbs at uncomfortable angles, a large knife protruding from the centre of his chest. There was blood splattered across his clothes, the floorboards, and even the walls and ceiling; it had all already dried, but it still wasn’t pleasant. 

The fire god looked a little sick at the sight, which did confuse Janus, though he didn’t comment on it. 

“Would you like to leave?” He asked instead. 

After a moment of consideration, Roman shook his head. 

Janus turned back to the body, and it only took one more step forward for the ghost to appear, standing over his body and staring down at himself in abject horror. He was almost identical to his corpse, though greyscale apart from the blood, and lacking the knife. His shirt was torn, practically falling to pieces, but his skin was in far worse shape. 

“I’m dead, aren’t I?” He asked eventually, after an unknown period of time, his voice distorted and crackling. 

“Yes.” 

It was best not to say too much unless prompted, Janus found. The dead weren’t usually too talkative, and they tended to find the death god more... creepy, than comforting. 

There were a few beats of silence. 

“It didn’t hurt as much as I’d expected it to,” John continued. “The stabbing hurt, obviously, but then the pain just... stopped. It was like falling asleep, and then I woke up again.” He looked down at his hands, trying to clasp them together, but they just phased through each other. It can’t have been a very pleasant feeling. 

After another second or two, he looked up at the two gods. “What’s the underworld like?” He asked. 

Janus took a moment to mull it over, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. His eyes scanned the numerous plants that decorated the room, and he thought back to all the bushes and flowers in the front lawn. 

“It’s... like a garden – an infinite garden with no end in sight,” He answered finally. “You’ll stay there as long as you wish, and then, one day, when you’re ready, you’ll fade.” 

John seemed surprised at that answer, but satisfied, humming thoughtfully under his breath. The sound was twisted and broken – like eerie music played from a broken instrument – but Janus found it soothing. He held out his hand, and John took it without hesitation, seeping through his gloves and his skin and then settling in where the death god’s ribcage would have been, if he’d had one. 

“I’ve never been to the underworld,” Roman said once it was over, breaking the silence and reminding Janus of his presence. “Is it really like that?” 

“Patton’s the only one who visits regularly,” Janus responded simply. “He likes to come see his children. And it’s whatever they want it to be, a dream they can dwell in for as long as they wish. Just a beautiful lie – nothing more, nothing less.” 

Roman’s expression was unreadable. 

“I’d still like to visit, someday,” He said eventually, and then he disappeared, leaving a charred mark on the floorboards where he’d once stood, and a waft of smoke that wouldn’t truly dissipate for a while, the smell permanently etched into Janus's brain. 

*** 

The third time it happened, only one month after the second, Janus realised it was no coincidence. 

It was midnight. The townsfolk were all fast asleep; the streets were empty and silent. The moon shone brightly above them: the glowing crescent reminiscent of Remy’s smile, like the night god, himself, was grinning down at them. Perhaps he was, if he had nothing better to do, but it was much likelier that he was busy courting his human lover, ignoring his duties as much as possible. 

Roman was sat on a small patch of grass outside town, staring up at the stars with an unreadable expression. His skin was glowing slightly, his bare chest giving off a faint fiery light. It was barely visible – humans would never even notice, but Janus did, and it was hard not to stare. 

He shook his head, trying to get back on track. 

“It’s you,” Janus said simply, pausing for a moment, before sitting down beside Roman in one swift motion. “You spend so much time here. You’re the reason their souls are strong enough to stick around.” 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Roman apologised. His voice was quiet, bordering on emotionless, but sincere. 

“It’s fine.” 

And it _was_ fine, really. Janus didn’t mind spending so much time with Roman. 

There was a beat of silence. 

Roman glanced at Janus, opening his mouth to say something, but shutting it again with a snap when he spotted the death god’s gloves. They were bright yellow, impossible to ignore, and identical to how they’d been when their paths had last crossed. He raised his eyebrows, tilting his head to one side. 

“You kept the gloves?” Roman asked softly. 

Janus stared down at his hands, looking almost startled, like he hadn’t noticed the colour. 

“Yes, I did,” He said. “I like them.” 

Roman smiled, and Janus's heart did a funny little tremor in his chest, which he didn’t understand, but chose to ignore. His face warmed – likely from being in close proximity to the fire god – and he quickly cleared his throat in an attempt to regain composure. 

“Do you know who died this time?” 

The smile slipped from Roman’s face, and Janus instantly regretted the question. 

“Yes,” Roman said, standing up and brushing the non-existent dirt off his trousers, before holding his hand out to Janus, helping him stand. “Follow me.” 

The touch lasted moments at most, but burned with an intensity that would never fade, and the death god found himself wanting to keep holding that hand and never let go. However, Roman did let go, turning away quickly, his expression unreadable, and stepping off the grass. 

Without another word, Janus followed Roman into town. The silence between them wasn’t quite _cold_ , exactly – it could never be cold, not with Roman – but it certainly wasn’t comparable to the moment of warmth that had preceded it. The wind nipped at any patch of exposed skin, like ice-cold teeth that refused to be ignored. Janus wondered if Roman felt them, too, or if his burning skin shielded him from such things. 

He didn’t know how long they’d been walking – it could’ve been seconds, minutes, maybe even hours, though probably not – but he knew when they’d reached their destination, as Roman stopped in his tracks, his hands stuffed in his pockets, right in the middle of the street. Janus was almost distracted enough (by his hair, his warmth, his skin) to bump into him. Almost. 

The body was fresh, about an hour old, at most, probably even less. It was propped up against a front door, slumped over and covered in stab wounds, and Janus had half a mind to move it, to save the family that slumbered in the quaint, little house from having to deal with such a terrible start to their day. But blood had already slipped through the crack under the door – wet and still glistening in the moonlight – so their morning would likely be ruined either way. 

“The killer’s still awake,” Roman said, barely above a whisper. “I can hear him cleaning up, just a few houses down.” 

Janus listened: footsteps, breathing, an erratic heartbeat, the sounds of water sloshing and spilling over. Laughter – quiet and breathy, yet smug and self-satisfied. 

The death god scowled, his nose wrinkling. Those were the worst kinds of humans. 

“Where’s the ghost?” Roman asked eventually, glancing around. “I can’t see them.” 

“Hiding.” 

Janus looked up and down the empty street – once, twice, thrice. There was no sign of the spirit, only a general feeling that they were somewhere nearby, but as far away as possible: watching, listening, waiting. He sighed, pulling off his right glove, folding it carefully, and sliding it into his pocket, before kneeling down beside the corpse and pressing his thumb into the centre of its forehead, just above the nose. Roman watched him silently, peering over his shoulder, his previous disgust almost overtaken by a warm curiosity. 

After a moment or two, Janus's connection with the ghost strengthened, like there was an invisible string connecting them. It only took a few tugs, and then they were yanked from their hiding spot, reappearing beside their body with a gasp. 

He stood up, taking a step back and pausing for a second to put his glove back on, before turning back to the ghost, 

They were just as blood-stained as their corpse – wide-eyed and terrified – standing as far away from Janus as they could. Their hands were in fists as they clutched at their clothes, and they kept glancing at Roman with confused recognition. 

That made sense – Roman spent a lot of time here, after all. 

“You’re... not human, are you?” The ghost asked softly, not accusatory, just questioning, their voice crackling. 

Roman smiled slightly, a little embarrassed. “Not, I’m not,” He admitted, running his fingers through his hair. “I’m... also the reason why your soul stuck around longer than usual. Sorry.” 

“It’s okay,” They reassured him gently. “And your name isn’t Philip, is it?” 

Roman shook his head. 

“May I ask what it is?” 

There was a beat, and then, instead of simply answering, the fire god let his glamour disappear, like a layer of wax melting away. His skin glowed – literally glowed – like a burning ember plucked straight from a fireplace. His hair seemed to move and sway in the wind, a living flame. It was impossible to take your eyes off of him; everything about him drew people in – both humans and gods alike – he was mesmerizingly gorgeous, like molten bronze and gold, and even Janus froze in place watching him. 

The human’s eyes had widened, the whites more visible than anything else. 

“Oh,” They whispered. 

Roman smiled, still a little sheepish, but as bright as the sun. He bowed his head for a moment, before straightening up, glancing at Janus out of the corner of his eye. 

Janus coughed, clearing his throat. He held out his hand to the ghost. 

“Come with me.” 

The spirit froze, their eyes darting between the two gods, half-terrified and half-questioning. Roman nodded, supportive, and they sighed. 

“I don’t really have a choice, do I?” They asked weakly, half-joking and trying to smile, but looking like they wanted to cry. 

Janus didn’t respond, he just waited. 

After another moment or two of hesitation, they took his hand, quietly disappearing from sight and settling in Janus's chest. For almost a minute afterwards, it was still, quiet, the silence only punctuated by the fire-like crackling that burst from the fire-god's skin. 

And then the calm was broken by Roman reaching out and resting his hand on Janus's shoulder, sending a spark of warmth through his shirt and across his whole body, like he was setting his skin ablaze, melting his heart. Janus turned immediately, and they made eye contact. Roman looked like he wanted to say something, but he didn’t. 

No words were exchanged, they just... felt. 

Felt what? They weren’t sure (or, at least, _Janus_ wasn’t sure). But it was good, nice, and unlike any other experience Janus had ever had with any other god. 

The moment was then suddenly interrupted by another front door swinging open with a deafening creak, and a human – a young woman in her early twenties – stepped out. Somehow, the first thing she spotted was the mangled corpse, and she inhaled sharply, not quite screaming (but only just), her bag slipping from her shoulder and landing on the ground with a thump. Then, her eyes landed on the two frozen gods, her attention immediately drawn to Roman, who winced almost imperceptibly. 

“Oh,” She squeaked, before falling to her knees in a deep bow, rapidly apologising for interruption and begging for their forgiveness. 

It was awkward, to say the least. 

Roman reacted more visibly to this, his face scrunching up uncomfortably, looking unsure of what to say, his hand falling from Janus's shoulder. Janus was also at a loss for words, and gave the fire god a sympathetic look. He wanted to say something – to either Roman or the girl – but this wasn’t exactly his speciality. 

Then, the earth began to creep up his shoes, tugging at the hems of his trouser legs, reminding him of his duty to bring the hundreds of souls swimming in his chest back to the underworld (today had been a busy day, he was full). And he sighed, turning apologetically to Roman, who shot him a small, understanding smile, before sinking out and becoming one with the dirt, his vision going black. 

*** 

Two weeks had passed since their last interaction, and when Janus realised that another soul had passed, awaiting him, and that he would be returning to that very same town, he’d felt not quite _excited_ , exactly, but it was definitely positive, and definitely attributed to the fact that he’d get to see Roman again. He’d never admit that to himself, though, and certainly not to anyone else. 

But when he’d appeared just outside town, he was immediately overwhelmed by a feeling of pure _misery_ that didn’t belong to him – thick and suffocating, like the air was packed with pudding – and the sounds of sobs that rippled through the clearing, all centred around one figure who knelt in the middle, in front of the ashen remains of a bonfire. 

As Janus approached Roman, he could tell that the fire god had noticed him, but he didn’t look up, staring straight ahead, smoke-coloured tear tracks running down his face, his hands in fists at his sides. 

Janus sat down beside him, crossing his legs, not saying anything, waiting for Roman to speak up. 

After a few minutes, he did. 

“They slit his throat,” He said, barely above a murmur. “And then threw him into the bonfire. The burns finished him off. _I_ fini-” 

“No,” Janus interrupted him firmly. “You didn’t do anything.” 

Roman was quiet for a moment. “I didn’t save him; I _could_ have saved him. If only I’d noticed,” He sniffled, wiping the tears off his cheek and rubbing his eyes. “He was my friend, you know. One of the few people I really got along with in this town.” 

“I’m sorry,” Janus apologised, sincere. 

“You didn’t do anything. You’re just here to... collect him.” 

That was true, but, right now, comforting Roman was more important to him. The ghost could wait another few minutes, at least. 

“They thought he was the one killing everybody,” Roman continued, shaking his head and letting out a short, bitter laugh. “They were wrong, accusing him without evidence. The killer’s still out there, and he’ll kill again. They’re no better than he is.” 

He glanced up at the death god, and, for a moment, looking at Roman’s tear-stained face and red eyes, Janus felt like there was a hand clamped around his heart, squeezing tight. For a moment, he considered killing – _destroying –_ all those at fault for this, but he knew it wouldn’t help. 

“They... the woman we saw last time, she told everyone about us,” Roman said, looking down at his lap, his hair flopping in front of his eyes. “They know that I’ve been visiting, and they thought... they thought that I’d _want_ this. They... they think I’m going to reward them for sacrificing him in my name.” 

His expression was still miserable, but, right now, he looked more... tired, than anything else. 

“Are you?” Janus asked. 

Roman gave him an incredulous look. 

“Of course, not!” He exclaimed. “Why would I? I don’t- I didn’t want them to do this! They’re... they’re just as bad as the murderer, taking pleasure in such horrifying things.” He paused for a moment. “Why- why would they do this?” 

“I don’t know.” 

“Why are the humans like this?” Roman continued, and Janus didn’t have the answer to that question, either. “They can be so good – so sweet, so selfless, so loving – but... but they can be so _bad_ , too: so horrible and full of hate.” 

“They aren’t like us,” Janus said, in an attempt to comfort him. 

Roman looked back up at him, head tilted slightly to one side, his brow pinched together. 

“Aren’t they?” He said softly, placing his hand on Janus's knee and distracting the death god so much that he almost didn’t hear the next words. “They’re _just_ like us, but powerless against the world around them, and so they take it out on one another. I don’t understand them, I don’t think I’ll ever truly understand them. I can’t... _we_ can’t.” 

Janus didn’t know what to say to that. 

There was silence between them for some time afterwards – it could have spanned seconds, minutes, or even hours, neither could tell – and, while Roman’s sadness still hadn’t dissipated, there was something warm (almost comfortable) about it. 

“May I take him, now?” Janus asked gently. 

Roman gave him a small smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. 

“Of course.” 

Janus carefully removed his bright yellow gloves, folding them and placing them on the ground between them. He then leant forward, burying his hands in the ashen remains, coating them, feeling the bones beneath his fingertips. A second passed, maybe even two, and then the ghost appeared – a young man, his skin the colour of glistening silver, his hair as black as the night sky behind him. He looked confused, at first, and then a fleeting moment of terror crossed his face, before he noticed the gods beside him – in particular, Roman – and his expression melted into one of sympathy. 

“Oh, Phil- Roman. Roman,” The ghost correct himself, kneeling down in front of them. “Are you okay?” 

“Am _I_ okay?” Roman asked incredulously. “You’re the one who just- who just-” 

“I know,” The young man said softly. “But, _are_ you okay?” 

Roman hesitated. 

He sighed. “Not really.” 

The spirit gave a small, sad smile. “I’m sorry,” He apologised. 

“Why are you sorry? It’s not your fault.” 

“I know, but I’m still sorry.” 

There was a beat. 

“You’re too kind to me, Jacob, you know that, right? One of the sweetest humans I’ve ever met. It’s more than I deserve; I’ve been deceiving you about my identity since our first encounter.” 

“It’s okay, I understand,” Jacob reassured him. He looked like he wanted to place his hand on Roman’s shoulder, to comfort him, but he couldn’t. “And, surely, that cannot be true. You’ve met many humans throughout your lifetime, numerous great heroes and saviours.” 

“And few stood out as much as you.” 

Jacob smiled. “Thank you.” He said, before turning to Janus, looking nervous, but not quite as fearful as most felt around the death god. “And I suppose you’re here to collect me?” 

Janus nodded. 

“Any final words?” He asked, surprising himself in the process. He didn’t usually ask that, but, right now, it felt right. 

Jacob turned to Roman. “Thank you,” He repeated. “For being my friend.” 

And then he took Janus's hand. 

His soul lingered for another moment or two, frozen in place, before it fell forward, colliding with Janus, slipping through his skin, and settling in his chest. 

There was silence, and then Roman took a deep, shaky breath. Janus turned to him, instinctively opening his arms. Roman fell into them immediately, wrapping his arms around the death god’s neck and burying his face in his chest. There was a moment of hesitation, and then Janus place one hand on Roman’s wait, using the other to reassuringly rub circles on his back, feeling the fire god shake and sob against him. 

It was impossible to tell how much time they spent like that – Janus would keep holding Roman forever, if he could, though the fact that he was crying wasn’t ideal – but, eventually, Roman pulled back. 

He stared up at Janus, still oh-so close to him, their legs pressed together, his hands on Janus's shoulders, Janus's hands on Roman’s waist. 

“Thank you,” He whispered. 

And then, he leant forward, pressing a soft kiss to Janus's cheek. It was warm, hot, _scalding,_ and if Janus's hadn’t known better, he’d have thought that Roman was burning a mark into his skin. It didn’t hurt, though, it _couldn’t_ hurt – if he was human, perhaps it would have, but he was a god, and Roman would never hurt him. 

Then, Roman pulled back, staring into Janus's eyes for another moment or two, before disappearing into thin air, leaving Janus feeling empty, yet significantly warmer than before, and wondering what, exactly, the kiss had meant. 


End file.
